Too Late to Fade
by Karen's Drunk
Summary: I hated that house the moment I stepped foot in it. Old, creepy things do not settle well with me; so as I'm sure you can already tell, my stay at The Murder was far from pleasant.
1. Introductions and Malfunctions

A/N: Hi! I'm Karen, and I can assure you this will be the first and last time you'll see an exclamation point in my work. This is my first piece published on this site _ever_, so take it easy on me; I bruise easily. Anyway, Too Late to Fade takes place during the first season of _American Horror Story_, and surprise, it's an OC/Tate story. Hopefully it won't be butt-numblingly cliche; I ain't about that life. Yeah, so here it, this first chapter of Too Late to Fade. Enjoy.

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I hated that house the moment I stepped foot in it. Old, creepy things and places do not settle well with me, so as I'm sure you can already tell, my stay at The Murder House was far from pleasant.

We arrived on the twelfth of July, approximately a month since I was let out from school for the summer. I'm originally from Scottsdale, Arizona, and by originally I mean I was both conceived and born there, but I grew up in Los Angeles.

My family had come to the conclusion that our lovely home in Huntington Beach was far too small to accommodate the four of us, thus resulting in the move. For the price the house was going for it didn't take my parents too long to make a decision, and so two short weeks later I was unpacking boxes in my dingy new bedroom.

Gross wouldn't even begin to describe it.

There was this terrible, _terrible_ smell that no amount of Febreze was able to diminish. Honestly, it was gag worthy.

My mom insisted it was the cleaning detergents the realtor probably used to disinfect the place, but I wasn't convinced. That same day I took it upon myself to drive to the mall and pick up a few candles to hopefully alleviate the room of the stench, and it was on that same day things started getting weird.

I already knew the history of the place, and I somewhat believed in ghosts, so when things would go bump in the night I automatically assumed it was that girl; the one that lived in the house before my family and I, the one that died there as well.

Everyone knew about it; it was the biggest thing in LA since Lindsay and Paris. Her whole family died there too, you know. So really, it could have been any of them.

When I came back with an abundance of Yankee Candles, the smell was already gone. I asked my mom if she had anything to do with it, and all I received was a simple no. I didn't question it any further and proceeded to light the candles because why not? My room could use some ambiance.

See, the weird part happened after I lit them. A good five minutes later they all began to go out as if someone were blowing on them purposely. I was on my bed "Tumblring" and listening to music when I started to smell the smoke.

I almost shit my pants when I saw them all out. I wanted to run out of there, but at the same time I couldn't move. I thought if I did I'd come in contact with something I wouldn't want to; as stupid as that sounds.

So I started calling for my mom until my brother came running in instead asking if I were okay. I wasn't, and I told him, to which he replied with a "yeah, I know" and I rolled my eyes. It felt good not being alone, and for a second I forgot about the candles. I decided I wouldn't trouble him with the news and instead told him it was nothing.

He rolled his eyes and marched back to his room. You know, it felt colder the moment he walked off; at the time, of course, I thought nothing of it. Five candles all simultaneously blew out-what was I supposed to be concerned about?

That's how things went for the next couple of weeks. Bizarre, inexplicable events would occur that would capture my attention for some time, meanwhile something less obvious, yet still as odd, would sneak in there as well. Needless to say these events only worsened as time went on; to the point where I nearly got my parents involved. Nearly, though. God forbid their dream home wasn't as perfect as they thought. Still, looking back on it I really should have said something.

It was only after a month of living there that I came in contact with one of them. What happened after continues to boggle my mind to the point where I often question if it actually occurred.

Because if it were you, I'm sure you'd think you were bat-shit crazy too.


	2. Night to Light

A/N: So it's been almost a month since my last update, which is totally unacceptable and I apologize for the long wait. I'm just so blown away by the response this story has gotten I want to thank everyone who took time to read it. To anyone that has a problem with this fic not being about Tate/Violet, I'm sorry? They may not end up together, but I have a lot in mind for the both of them, and I can assure you they'll be interacting in later chapters. Well anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I apologize if it seems short or unfinished, but I was in a hurry to get it posted.

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I wanted to sleep, believe me I did, but I couldn't. Closing my eyes seemed to be an impossible feat, even though when they were open it all looked the same; black. My room had this really awesome way of transforming into a massive void of darkness whenever the lights were turned off during the evening. And incase you were unsure, that was sarcasm.

I'm not particularly fond of the dark, either. It's not like I'm absolutely terrified of it, but when you're attempting to sleep in a room that's probably full of ghosts and what have you, it can be scary. It had been exactly one month since we moved in, and as I said, things went from strange to bizarre with no middle ground in sight.

At that point I knew it wasn't just the four of us living there. My parents weren't too concerned about that fact simply because they hadn't experienced anything too odd. My brother was the same way, but he probably only acted like nothing was wrong to mess me with some more.

"Probably" is such a shitty word.

I closed my eyes for what felt like the thousandth time that night, only to pry them open at the slightest creek or thump. My head was beginning to hurt just from staring into the darkness; I needed something to focus on. It wasn't until I remembered I left my phone on my bedside table that I felt the slightest bit of relief. My hand shot out from underneath the layers of blankets that were supposed to pass of for a duvet cover until it came in contact with the wooden fixture beside me. I fumbled a bit before my fingers grasped the familiar metal object.

It was strange how something so minuscule could be so comforting.

I immediately pressed the home button and smiled in triumph as the screen lit up. The next half hour was spent alternating between checking Tumblr and reading some crap One Direction fanfictions. I mean really, could they be any worse? As usual, I was engrossed in my phone and all the lovely, ghost-free things it had to offer. My mind seemed to have made a complete 180, and for a while I forgot where I was. Of course, that didn't last very long because as I was scrolling through my dashboard, all the lights in my room suddenly switched on.

I yelped in surprise, my phone dropping onto my face in the process. I brought a hand up to rub my sore nose, "What the fuck." I groaned to myself, my eyes drawn shot from the sudden exposure of light.

My first instinct was to check if it was my mom who turned it on, or anyone in my family for that matter, but I was alone in my room with a throbbing face. My heart nearly dropped to my stomach as the realization came that no one at home was responsible for it, at least no one alive.

It could have been an electrical problem, which seemed likely given the house's age, but part of me preferred the more dramatic theory.

"One Direction is shit."

The scream that left my mouth had to have been five octaves higher than my actual speaking voice, and louder too. My head shot up to see where that comment came from, and the sight before me was enough to send anyone into cardiac arrest.

It was a girl. Some random girl standing at the foot of my bed.

Before I could even process what was happening I immediately called for my mother in hysterics.

"Jesus, okay I'll leave. There's no need to be rude about it." I wasn't sure when I stopped screaming, but eventually I did. My mouth was left wide open, gaping and dry. She smirked, the lights turned back off, and I nearly shit myself.


End file.
